They have been born to model and to mould

The shapeless clay into expressive form

Even as gods! to seize the fleeting shades,

The subtle hues of things that pass or stay

And make them live and glow intensely.

They have been born to tell their wondrous dreams

In rhythmic stanzas full of strength and grace,

To plunge into the very depths of things,

To seek the precious essence that is fit

For distillation to symphonic strain.

Require them not to leave their sacred sphere,

To mix with common vendors in the mart,

To traffic their creations and to throw

The priceless pearls of genius to the swine

For but a bowl of vinegar and gall.

O bring to them the little bread and milk

Which they must have to live, and if you can

Rejoice to give them honey. Be to them

What ravens were unto a prophet once.

Does not the beauty they create or dream

Atone for all our ugly deeds or thoughts,

Even as the saints who pray for those that sin

Sustain the equilibrium that must be

In order that the world may not be doomed?

Eternal malediction fall on those

Who mock or crucify these chosen ones

And let them be thrice blessed who help to clear

Life’s rugged road of thorns for those who pass

And passing, leave this world more beautiful.